


Those Kinda Nights

by brokenmemento



Category: Harley Quinn (Cartoon 2019)
Genre: 2x09, 2x10, Angst, Complicated Relationships, F/F, Fill in the blank scenes, Spoilers, difficult feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:01:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24457120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenmemento/pseuds/brokenmemento
Summary: These are the filler scenes for what the audience didn't see for the episode "Bachelorette" and an off the road take on events for the remainder of the season.
Relationships: Pamela Isley/Harleen Quinzel
Comments: 38
Kudos: 351





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm new to the fandom, so please be gentle. My knowledge of these two is limited to what I've seen on the show. 
> 
> **Also, this is basically somewhat sensual smut. Sorry. (Not sorry?)

**\------Time 1-----**

There’s no way she deserves to feel this good. Ivy is draped over her shoulders, her arm dangling in front of Harley’s body. 

She’s so warm and so close and Harley has to close her eyes a few times to hold in all the overwhelming feelings that have repeatedly been hitting her harder than she does people with her bat over and over again. There’s nothing in this club except for the two of them. The way Ivy leans in and Harley can just stare all she wants, the way she can smell Ivy’s perfume and doesn’t have to look like a fucking weirdo for wanting to hold on to that scent as long as she can. 

They stumble along, Ivy grabbing Catwoman who eventually makes a hasty retreat to somewhere else and Harley can’t really find it in herself to care, not with Ivy pressed against her as they sway back and forth to the thumping music, their bodies a little out of sync because of alcohol but wonderfully complementary of each other. 

“You always go the extra mile for me,” Ivy tells her and the words are a bit slurred but Harley feels like she’s floating on a damn cloud, so she grabs her hands and squeezes tightly. 

“I’m your best friend,” Harley tells her sincerely.

“You are my best friend,” Ivy agrees and Harley feels her heart swell inside her chest. 

She’s got to have the biggest shit-eating grin on her face ever, but then something dark passes over Ivy’s face and Harley knows it, the same wildness that has thumped within her own body in multiple places. 

So she pulls Ivy away, manages to get her on the boat that takes them back to Themyscira. It’s a difficult ride, even harder to make it through the front door of the resort knowing exactly where she is leading her best friend. 

She barely gets the key card in the door before Ivy has shoved her up against it, is roughly pressing her fingers into her hips and Harley feels desire catapult and somersault through her system. Their shared kiss works it’s way back into her mind and she leans in, aiming to capture Ivy’s lips again. To feel them against hers once more. 

But Ivy changes her trajectory, tosses aside the red flame of her hair and guides Harley’s head to the side of her neck. The direction isn’t exactly what she had in mind, but Ivy is letting her touch her, finally, and Harley can’t find it in herself to complain. Her teeth lock a little on Ivy’s skin when she feels the woman at the barrier between them, the spandex material of her bottom garment being pulled away from her body. 

“Ive,” Harley starts but then there’s a green hand covering her mouth and another one touching her, finding her embarrassingly ready for so little to have happened.

She wants to apologize, to explain that she’s been living inside of a very vivid dream for weeks on end, that she understands it’s wrong to want to know exactly how your best friend sounds when an orgasm rings through their body. Instead, she gets to say none of those things because Ivy has pressed her forehead against the door at Harley’s left shoulder and lifted her right leg up to rest against her hips. 

Then Harley is swimming in a few things. The alcohol is still a fuzzy blur in her body, the bliss of Ivy’s fingers testing and taking, the euphoria of being completely enveloped and protected in Ivy’s arms as she lets her friend wreck her against the hotel door. 

Harley comes with a strangled cry, a burst of lustful agony that does little to ease the burning deep in her heart for the woman she should not want in every conceivable way. 

On the comedown, she notices several things. Ivy is panting erratically at her shoulder, the stickiness between her legs feels hedonistic and powerful, the stark realization that they’re both still clothed jolting her a bit. 

Fine. 

If Ivy doesn’t want to talk, then they won’t. She’s had weeks to learn how to stuff it all down so she  _ can do this.  _ Bringing her hands to Ivy’s shoulders, she shoves her off and grabs her leather jacket, ripping it off of her before she can be told no. 

She doesn’t want to give Ivy any time to think on this, to deny her or walk back what they’ve already done. This is the push and pull and the building of something greater than the two of them alone, so incredibly wonderful together if only Ivy would get past her bullheadedness to see it. 

The first time she touches Ivy, it’s pure magic. Even the Queen of Fables story books couldn’t have had a tale written that is greater than what the woman feels like against her fingertips. She’s all dew and utter goodness and Harley works her into oblivion, reveling in the silent way she gasps when she comes. 

Harley presses her ear against the side of Ivy’s face as she clenches, runs her nose along her neck, and feels absolutely fucking everything. 

Insanely, impossibly, she’s all wired nerve endings and anticipation again. This can’t end, not when she still feels so high and her heart is packed so incredibly full with emotion for the woman underneath her. She’s heedless of the mess on her hand, the sheer awe of what she’s been able to do something that she wants to hang onto forever. 

“C’mere,” Ivy whispers and works to get Harley off of her. 

She positions Harley to be on her knees. Reaching behind her, she unclasps the cinch behind Harley’s top and flings it behind them to the ground. Agonizingly slow, she pulls the garment off of Harley’s hips leaving her bare to both of their worlds. 

Ivy still has too much clothing on, a tank top and her signature pair of green knit leggings, but Harley doesn’t get a chance to rectify this before Ivy has pulled her to the middle of the bed and made her face toward the foot of it. 

Harley’s breathing takes on an edge when she feels Ivy slide in behind her, pressing light kisses to her bare shoulder. The precipe is already in sight, the edge for which Harley can tip over far too easily arriving. 

She doesn’t want to be a two-pump chump, but Ivy’s got her hands on her breasts, caressing the nipples just so, and Harley doesn’t know if she can make it very far along when Ivy decides to touch her down below. 

Suddenly, she feels too sober for this part, too in tune with her own feelings. She’s supposed to be fucking them out of herself, not letting Ivy fuck them  _ in _ , but then Ivy touches her again, runs a delicate hand through her slick heat and murmurs “so incredible” against the side of her head. 

And when she tumbles, her heart lurches in her chest because there’s no way around it anymore. If the Joker ruined her, being in Ivy’s hands is like being remade. It’s the polar opposite, the calm in a lifetime of standing in the middle of a hurricane. Tears well in her eyes and her throat goes cotton. There’s no time for sentimentally and if Ivy’s walls weren’t already knocked down from shots of tequila, Harley has no doubt she’d be denied again. 

So she’s impetuous?

Okay then. 

Turning quickly, another effort to keep the night going, (to not turn to jello and be spent against the sheets) she turns around in Ivy’s arms and rucks up the tank top from her chest. Her leggings get shoved down and tossed on the end of the bed without another thought. 

Harley loses the breath in her lungs. 

Laid bare, she’s a sight to behold. She hopes Ivy’s stupid fucking finance has enough sense to know this, to love her as much as Harley feels cramming her heart. There’s no poison to her spread open like this, only sweetness. 

Idly, Harley licks her lips and wants to use her mouth this time. But there seems to be some unspoken rule against that, like it would make whatever they’re doing too real. If they were to open their mouths, emotion might also slip inside and that wouldn’t do either of them any good, now would it?

She lays behind Ivy, spoons her body, and brings her hands around to connect. The planes and curves of her body are sculpted and shaped with Harley’s pale hands and she’s breaking the pattern of the night, whispering things like  _ let go _ and  _ let me see you again _ inside Ivy’s ear and Ivy is shoving her hand tighter against her, her own cry slamming against the walls.

Harley schools her own response, sucks down and eats the  _ I love you _ working it’s way up her throat and begging to dance in the air. Somewhere in the middle of all of it, sleep pulls her under with her still hanging on to Ivy’s body.

**\------Time 2-----**

She’s so incredibly fucked up. And a horrible fucking person. Both of those things, each coming together to make a fuck sandwich. 

At least, that’s the only thoughts she can arrive at when she wakes up to stare into Harley’s eyes. They’re too blue and too alarmed and too readable, so she jolts from the bed and starts spilling subterfuge out of her mouth. 

Because it was a mistake. 

Even if she loved the way Harley felt against her and maybe the way she had been so full inside of her. Because it’s all wrong and just because you want something doesn’t mean you get it. 

Harley can’t have whatever the hell it is she wants and Ivy can’t give it to her. Not when she’s supposed to be having her last hurrah as an unmarried woman. Said hurrah was absolutely, unequivocally, 100% not supposed to be with the person who means the most in all of her life. And most certainly not supposed to be sex.

And that’s why she sits against the door and mourns the loss of her decency. Because now, she’s literally fucked Harley after fucking with her feelings and she’s literally fucked Kiteman to only now have to fuck with his feelings and it’s all a huge mess in her chest that she’s unsure she will ever unwind. 

But Harley has this way of pushing people, of making them do things and see things they may not have otherwise done. She’s the one person on the whole planet who has the maddening ability to have Ivy doing things she never imagined, to have her lying awake at night and wondering how exactly she’s lost mostly who she used to be. 

And though she’d never admit it to Harley, it’s that impetuousness that she’s let level her. It’s what has a smile pulling at her lips more than it ever has. It’s what makes her feel so insanely alive that she can’t even think straight sometimes. It’s the thing that keeps breaking her heart over and over again with the unyielding force of it. 

Because she’s supposed to love someone else. 

But Harley is on the other side of the door and Harley is on her visions in the back of her mind and maybe Harley is even still clinging to her skin, the remnants of her fused to Ivy’s flesh now. Before she rises from the ground, she chances a look at her fingers before shaking her head and opening the door. 

While Harley is off doing who knows what, Ivy meanders a bit before meeting in the dining hall.

“That walk of shame isn’t very becoming on you,” a voice practically purrs behind her, all silk and sass. 

She turns around to see a raised eyebrow and a sarcastic look on the woman’s face. She can barely handle Harley, much less this right now, so she waves her off. 

“Oh, go fuck yourself in the ass, Selina,” she growls and makes her way to the hall. 

Thankfully when she arrives, Jennifer and Nora are too hungover to comment and Ivy slides her glasses down onto her eyes and stuffs the wide-brimmed hat on top of her head. Her own temples ache a bit and there’s a shameful one elsewhere and as Harley stands dramatically on top of the table, Ivy tries not to remind herself that you shouldn’t fuck your best friend and fuck over someone else. 

Luckily, she gets to raise some hell with the rest of the squad and free the Queen from Eris’s clutches. Saving the day is sort of nice sometimes and she’s riding that high at the rager the Amazonians throw later that night. 

The bonfire sends up crackling embers like fireflies. Nora dances around the fire and Ivy watches her and the other women move in the night. Jennifer has somehow even managed to loosen Selina up, to which Ivy laughs as they both fall to the ground. Despite everything, she feels really fucking good. 

“Are you having fun?” 

Ivy’s soul almost curls around the words, but she manages to gain her composure. 

“I’m just glad you talked me into coming back out. You know, it’s like...aside from the horrible mistake that we made earlier, this has been my dream vacation. I mean, relaxation, partying, murder,” she intentionally leaves out the orgasming part. “I mean...man. You know me better than anyone.”

“You’re easy to celebrate,” Harley’s voice is all goo and it makes what comes out of Ivy’s take on a lot of the same tone. 

“And you’re...fun to celebrate with.” And is she actually fucking doing this right now, flirting and getting shifty eyes when they’ve both said they wouldn’t do whatever this is again between them?

She sets the shot of tequila back on the tiki bar, looks around to make sure no one is looking their way. Closing her eyes, she calls to the vines and leaves and stems. She feels them wrapping around her own ankles and arms, sees them winding around Harley too and starting to pull them both away into the night. 

They’re barely out of sight when she wraps her arms around Harley’s waist with one hand and threads the other through the dangling tresses of one of her pigtails. She presses her mouth hard against hers.

She’s not even that drunk but if Harley asks, if she says anything, Ivy knows she’ll chalk this up to that again. To going into a blackout and not really thinking. Because she’s a shitty friend and an awful fucking person, but that seems like an easier out than explaining she’s head over heels in love and probably has been since the very beginning. 

They go to her room this time, falling through it with much the same fervor as the time before. But already it’s different because Ivy has kissed Harley, has let their mouths touch once more and what has she done again? She’s feeling everything and it’s making her way bolder than it should. 

Harley manages to gain the upper hand for a second, enough to rid Ivy of her bra and fling it just so, it landing on one of the sconces behind the bed. The rest of their clothes become a detritus on the floor and they’re both wonderfully bare before each other again. Has it only been 24 hours since they were last here? In Ivy, it feels like a lifetime. 

She’s on top of Harley when she lightly pushes her back a bit, letting her rest on leaning palms behind her. Ivy parts her knees, looks to what’s between them, and her mouth waters. 

Oh, god. She’s going to do it. She’s going to go down on Harley and love it more than anything she has done in her entire life. This is what she arrives at as she lays open-mouthed and hot kisses against Harley’s abdomen. 

“Whoa, wait. What...what are you…?” It’s fragmented and stammers out of Harley’s mouth as she watches with wide eyes and blown crystalline pupils. 

“Be quiet, Harls,” Ivy commands.

All of this, everything, restructures Ivy’s heart. She needs this though. She needs Harley’s skin and she can’t leave this fucking island without knowing how she tastes. Maybe she will finally fuck whatever this is out of them both. 

When she lowers her mouth, the sensations take over. There are hands gripping her hair, silk against her lips, her smell a slice of perfection, the way Harley lets out long moans that never seem to want to end. The more she moves, the more Ivy can barely stand it, so desperate for her own type of friction that she can’t help but touch herself. 

Shifting to gain purchase on her own body while remembering to show Harley exactly how good she can be, she tries to settle her brain between the two points of focus. She’ll stop if she has to, if Harley stops letting those little noises out of her mouth, but Ivy has to do  _ something _ or she’s going to lose control. 

“Iv, hon, what are you...oh, holy shit,” Harley grounds out when she sits up on her elbows to look at the sight below her, Ivy’s mouth against her and her ass up in the air with a hand working in between. 

Ivy shows her, backs her up against the metaphorical wall of orgasm and lifts her hips up into it. She needs air and space but there’s nothing but the beautiful clench and feel of Harley’s hips framing her face. 

She can imagine what they look like, the wanton visual of it enough for her to squeeze her eyes shut and gently bite the inside of Harley’s glistening thigh as she hurdles the wall herself. 

It’s hard to catch her breath, to let her vision unblur on the shore of wrecked release. It’s hard not to want to make a home between Harley’s legs as she lays her face softly against the plane of her stomach. 

Ivy is so incredibly screwed. 

**\------The Aftershock-----**

It was only supposed to be the one time.

Well, it wasn’t even supposed to be one but now there are two (which are really a whole bunch of little ones at a time that add to big ones) and Harley can’t sit on how she feels any longer when she opens her eyes and is staring into Ivy’s green ones again. 

This time, she doesn’t deflect. She has been living with the emotions wracking her body and she simply cannot contain them any longer. 

“Why...why can’t we have this?” she finally musters the courage to ask. The reasons are very obvious still but feel less sharp after they’ve come together time and time again. 

Harley has experienced loss, the greatest and deepest, so she knows why Ivy has concerns of her own. But can’t she see how beautiful they could be together? Couldn’t she feel how they just seemed to fit together and how she makes Harley feel just by being in the room?

“I love you,” Harley says because she means it but it’s still the safe version. She intentionally leaves out the  _ in  _ part, already the gravity of what they’ve done and must head back to a movie reel on Ivy’s face. 

And she’s ridiculous for already imagining their life together, of what it could look like and what it could be. But she tells her all the same because Ivy makes her feel the first good that she’s felt in fucking forever. 

“Just think about it,” she says and walks away because she knows Ivy needs to process everything. 

And she can’t help the back handspring inside her chest as they fly home. She steals glances over at Ivy, who sits with headphones in her ears and a wistful look on her face. Harley wants to believe so badly that she’s put that there, that maybe Ivy really isn’t folding but blooming to the idea of the two of them together. 

Once, she almost reaches for her hand across the aisle but thinks better of it. She figures she’d better hold her own heart up instead, waiting on Ivy’s answer. If she’s learned anything in their time together, it’s that you can’t make something grow bigger without giving it a little space to expand. 

To water it and give it the rays of the sun, to let it take it in and make even better out of what it gets. 

Ivy’s taught her that. She will remind herself of this lesson if she gets too lost in the wait. 

**********************

Harley doesn’t know it but Ivy does her own looking on the flight home. She knows Harley thinks she retreated into herself in contemplation and she has, but she’s also not so deep in that she doesn’t take the time to really look at her best friend. 

When did Harley change so greatly inside of her? 

Obviously at the pit and obviously inside both Harley’s bed and her own, but it seems like an arrival that was foreshadowed way before that. At some point, Harley Quinn has become the answer to a question Ivy wasn’t even asking. 

Her friend’s face, her beautiful fucking face, keeps getting these little smiles that twitch at the corners of her blood-red lips and Ivy has to fight a silent battle in herself to not do exactly what she wants, (to kiss her senseless) to not cross the space between them and not care if the sad little group behind them sees everything. 

Selina already knows, the inadvertent recipient of it because of sharing a wall with their rooms. Nora is too busy eye fucking and dry humping her slathered in suntan oil actual god, and Jen is in some catatonic state where her eye twitches every now and again, probably thinking about going back to her brood of children and doting husband.

Ivy’s got her own shit waiting for her back home in addition to what she’s started beside her. Her heart is swelling again, two entwining emotions batting around her chest cavity. She’s going to break someone’s heart another causality with her own. 

The idea of losing both Harley and Chuck seems too much to bear. And while Chuck is safe, Harley absolutely isn’t. Ivy knows they could set the world on fire together if she let this thing run and stretch its legs.

Harley can’t be tamed but maybe she can be reined in a little. Ivy has seen her set flames upon Gotham from just herself alone, from her own desperate agony. But if Ivy can just soothe it, can create a balm to make it sting less while they are still the best of friends, maybe it will work itself out. She’ll still have them both, even if it’s not in the way she wants either of them. 

So when the plane lands and she grabs her purse, she clutches it a little harder as she makes her way to where Harley stands at the steps. She can’t freefall into this anymore, can’t let those blue eyes persuade her to listen to her heart. It’s easier to make herself hurt than to give herself what she wants. 

“I trust you with my life. But I don’t trust you with my heart.” 

Because she doesn’t, the awful and selfish part of herself. She wants without having to give up. Harley has the power to destroy her while Chuck will only cause an ache. That wins out, stupidly. Irrationally. Maddeningly. 

She sees the tears in Harley’s eyes as she walks down the stairs into Kiteman’s arms. When she nods, it’s a well-timed agreement to hide the own wetness brimming in her eyes. 


	2. Part 2: The Rocky Ground Underneath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mildly based off of the episode synopsis for 2x10.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Look, if you're a Kiteman fan or a staunch advocate against cheating, this story probably isn't for you. While I don't love the cheating thing either, it is what it is and so far, Ivy hasn't shown any signs of fessing up to what she's done.
> 
> **Again, this is probably porn but with feelings. I just wanted to try and end on a happier note than where I left off last time. This chapter wasn't supposed to happen but here we are. Formatting may be a little wonky if you read from a phone. I was trying to capture the style of text messages. It never turned out quite how I wanted.

When she stands at the mall doors and watches the white flakes fluttering down from the sky, there is an amalgam of things in her mind. 

She thinks of Mr. Freeze, of the wonderfully sculpted landscape he created in his part of Gotham before she had tried to melt it to the ground. The cold, unyielding climate and landscape is now a frigidness that Harley could find some comfort in. The way her heart feels exactly like the flowing ice and billowing snow, a storm of particles that freeze everything. 

Of course, Ivy is never far from her thoughts. Of how she could combat the coldness creeping in, how she absolutely hates the stasis that the winter puts on the world, the green life retreating into a temporary hibernation until spring unfurls the blooms that never fail to make her smile after months of silent melancholy. 

But it’s Christmas Eve and the mall is depressingly quiet. Clayface has a performance of the Dickens classic and is knee deep in Tiny Tim and Bob Cratchet. Psycho is still trying to hang on to the last of the Parademons that exist and battling against Gordon. King Shark has agreed to a family feast with his new bride. 

Which leaves Harley alone with her frustrating feelings and utter sense of loss. So when her phone sounds and her heart jumps a little bit in hope but then crashes in disappointment at the number shining on the screen, she lets herself become a little more numb. 

If _she’s_ not thinking about her today, of all days but _he_ is? Maybe that says more than Harley has given him credit for. Maybe it’s better to go back and feel hurt than to be numb and feel absolutely nothing at all.

**********************

She knew better, she knew better, she _knew_ better!

Of all the idiotic and completely ridiculous things she could have done, trusting the Joker has got to be a new low. Especially now that she has morphed into a different person. At one point, the chaos and the unfiltered pure energy that was once in the room with him would have fueled Harley for days on end. 

She sought that type of life out, craved it, would practically beg for it when there was a lull. But now, the edges of life feel a little smoother, a little better pressing up against her. And she’d like to give herself credit for dismantling the old patriarchy of Gotham and the one that ruled over her life, but the second that Ivy had disappeared, she’d gone back to it. Like a kicked puppy who returns loyally, even though it could experience better. 

So really, every victory she’s had in regards to extricating herself from the clutches of the green-haired, purple suited man belongs to the woman of brambles and vines, the one whom Harley can’t unwind from the wild tangle around her heart. 

She trudges in out of the snow, limbs aching and skin turning impossibly paler in the Gotham winter. The bright sun and warm sand of Themyscira float in like water lapping against a shore. 

As if able to feel the thought, her phone buzzes against her hip and she tiredly pulls it out, completely over anything he might have to say about the fiasco at Wayne Tower. 

_Saw you on the news again_ it reads and Harley’s throat closes up, the swallow she tries to do hard and almost unmovable. Three dots start again and then stop. Harley sucks in a breath in wait, willing them to come back on the screen. Mercifully, they do. 

_You’re probably the stupidest fucking_ _person I know. To go back to THAT_ _dumpster fire of a human._

And Harley’s blood boils. She doesn’t get to talk to her like this. She doesn’t get a say anymore, not after Harley ripped her own heart out of her fucking chest and offered it, still dripping and warm, to this woman on a practical silver platter. Or an Amazonian shield. What the fuck ever. Ivy doesn’t get to put her two cents in anymore. 

_Rich, coming from someone who likes_ _to fuck a human parasol._

She’s typed it out and sent it before she has better sense to know the fire it will start.

 _You just proved one of my main concerns._ _The second I tell you something you don’t_ _want to hear, you’re back in his arms._ _Which should be dead, but whatever._

Tears are springing now and how dare she, on Christmas of all days! Shouldn’t she be belly deep in a crockpot of chili with the screen flickering with showing after showing of _A Christmas Story_? Shouldn’t she be kissing her dude under the mistletoe and fucking right off, just like she essentially told Harley to do?

If Ivy is so bent on this guy, then why do cracks keep forming? Harley would love to point them out, how Ivy keeps coming back again and again. But then Harley is letting her and she’s got just as much guilt to wallow in as her best friend. 

_Former best friend_ , she thinks sadly. Because she’s worried they’ve both fucked themselves up beyond repair, no matter how adamant they’d both been to remain a pair. Love has a way of warping things, especially the unrequited kind. And today, just for fucking once, Harley doesn’t feel like causing any destruction. 

_I love you, Ivy. I do. In more ways than you_ _can ever understand, but I can’t do this with_ _you. And I don’t want to. You mean the world_ _to me, even if you blew mine up beyond fixing._ _That doesn’t mean I want to argue._

It's a fucking paragraph, but Harley can’t beat herself up anymore if this is the way life has got to be. The heaviness of what she’s typed is enough to shut Ivy down, or at least it has been in the past, so she doesn’t expect a response. She falls back onto the bed in her room and feels the hot tears begin to form even though she’s trying desperately to hold her shit together. 

She should just turn the phone off, forget it by her side. They’ve both created too much pain for best friends to give one another and Harley knows Ivy knows that too, no matter how much she seems to act otherwise. Suffering through this seems a lesser of an evil than suffering through a life of loving Ivy and watching someone else give her what Harley would desperately like to.

If you love something, let it go…

Harley wishes her bat were near or a mallet or anything that she could wrap her hands around and take to smashing the shit out of. To effectively shatter something as much as she has become herself. Pining is fucking awful, the love glued to it even worse, and is this what she has managed to avoid her entire life? The Joker hadn’t felt like this, more of an obsessive need to chase the darkness she could always feel swirling around inside of herself. He gave her that out.

Ivy had shown her how to be human again, despite not even caring about humanity at all. 

Her phone sounds again and vibrates atop the sheets on the bed.

 _Right,_ Ivy agrees _. It’s just that..._

Harley wants to scream at the words. It’s just that _what?_ There shouldn’t be qualifiers between them after she fucked right off with Kiteman after the plane had landed. How long had Harley sat on those steps crying? And Ivy fucking _knew_. She had left her there to spill her tears on the ground.

She finds herself typing exactly what she thinks, never one to hold back much of anything anyway. The two of them are already in shambles, so how much worse can it get?

 _That_ what _, Iv? We’re stuck. You’re marrying_ _Kiteman and I’m supposed to sit through that?_ _I_ _t’s going to kill me._

 _Are you saying you won’t be my maid of honor_ _anymore? I mean, I get it, Harley, I do. And I’ve_ _tried to give you space after what I said. But all_ _of this is eating at me._

Harley actually laughs out loud, but there is no mirth behind it, no levity. Does Ivy let it consume her the way Harley does? Does she let it color her words and alter her steps? Does she find herself wallowing in it as much as Harley has, inevitably will continue to? And really, Harley hates to act like a little bitch about it but she was not equipped to handle the fallout of this. 

She decides to say nothing. To just leave it alone. Minutes pass and stack on end. That hollow feeling rings throughout Harley’s body and while she’s never been the brooding type, much preferring to fuck shit up, there’s little desire to do that either. 

_I can’t stop thinking about the two of us,_ Harley reads twenty minutes later. The text burns on the screen. _It keeps me awake at night._

And _good_. Harley hopes she tosses and turns beside Kiteman with it eating away at her. Harley is far from innocent, but Ivy has basically run from whatever is happening with them since the beginning. She’d let Harley talk, sure, but other than a couple of sentences Harley is sure were damage control to ease her own culpability, there’s been very little out of her mouth that seemed straight from her heart.

 _How?_ Harley types back because she is a glutton for punishment. It’s her m.o. Because she is so good at getting beaten down, a test of sorts to see if she will rise again. Before Ivy even types a word, Harley knows no good will come of this. 

And how exactly do you tell a heart to stop wanting, a body to stop yearning? Harley has no idea. She assumes Ivy doesn’t either.

_This is going to sound crazy but…_

Harley is good with crazy, with the wild. But this shouldn’t be the thing she’s encouraging if she’s trying to cut a cord. To hack the metaphorical vine the winds and wraps around each of them. 

_I think about everything, Harley. About the way we had a great life_ _together. About how we always had each other’s backs. I think_ _about the quiet times and the loud times. I think about the way_ _you sound and the way you feel and the way you taste._

Harley sits up and clenches over, her phone gripped tightly in her hand and her eyes closed shut just as much. There are images of their life together, but also Themyscira pummels her full force. About how they hadn’t even made it one fucking day before they were falling into one another’s arms. How even though they had said it was a mistake, they were pulled back toward one another the very next day, not even a twenty-four hour turnaround on a once in a lifetime thing. 

It’s the way the kiss at the pit opened up Harley’s heart and made it flower, about how when her legs had done the same, Ivy had shown her something completely different than she had experienced with anyone else, herself included. All of this comes back to her in a flood, creates the same type of torrent in multiple places.

_Ivy, please…_

And what is she asking for, really? _Please let this go? Please don’t talk to me this way if you want me to stand beside you and watch you marry someone else? Please keep going so we can continue to fuck up whatever normalcy you’re trying to make for yourself? Let’s please keep fucking, up or over, it doesn’t matter?_

There are too many questions, too many variables. But Harley already knows which one she’s going to choose because it’s the same one Ivy is going to. It will be the exact thing that she’s gone back to over and over again, even though her mouth says one thing and her actions another. Maybe she is the stupidest fucking person…

 _The thing I keep going back to is the way you looked under me. And I_ _know we were both drunk, but that didn’t make me lose the image._ _It’s like it made it more defined, sharper. How incredible you were_ _when I touched you and the absolute way you had let me in, had_ _trusted me to do whatever to you, with you, for you._

 _If this keeps going, I don’t know that_ _I can behave. You’re asking the_ _impossible of me._

 _Maybe I don’t want to behave. Maybe I don’t want you to behave either._ _Maybe that’s what makes me feel the fucking best I’ve ever felt in the world._

_What do you want from me, Ivy?_

_I want everything._

_  
__Where are you right now?_

_I’m in my bedroom._

_Good._

And Harley has pretty much zero impulse control anyway, but when Ivy is added to the equation, it's almost a negative. They do crazy shit together, even in the bedroom, and being with Ivy is like striking a match on top of gasoline or letting oneself sink even deeper into the ocean. It’s always the best, the most. 

_If I can’t touch you, I want you to do it_ _for me. I want you to tell me all_ _about it._

And while other parts of Harley are now clinching, she can’t resist being an impish shit, so she decides to have a little bit of fun if that is where this evening is inevitably going. She could kill the vibe completely, ask where her man is, but it’s easier to do what she’s mostly done: pretend he doesn’t exist.

 _Are you asking me to send_ _nudes? How millennial of_ _you._

 _I mean, I wasn’t exactly, but I wouldn’t_ _exactly say no to them either._

 _So tell me what to do, Ivy._ _Tell me what you want._

 _Will you deny me?  
_

_No. Never._

And there is a sick irony there, in what she’s asking, but Harley knows there is no way she can refuse anything she can or will ask for. She will give her it all, incomprehensibly. Her track record should show that, the downright debauchery they created with one another on two of the most wonderful nights of Harley’s life. 

_I keep thinking about our kiss at the pit._ _How your lips felt on mine. I was_ _so scared_ _but you just felt right against me._ _I’ve replayed_ _it a thousand times._

 _Me too. God, I would love to_ _do that again._ _I’d like to do a lot of things with you again._ _Themyscira comes to mind._

_You coming comes to mind too._

Yep, her willpower is shot to shit. She’s pushed herself back on the bed, holding the phone with one hand and trailing her free hand over the plane of her stomach, tracing the outline of her red and black bottoms. Well, so much for self-restraint. She dips under and travels south, touching herself for the first time.

_Harley, what are you doing?_

She can’t type a fucking message with one hand. It would take her until the New Year, so she opts for the easier method. It’s what all the kids are doing. Managing to maneuver to the camera app on her phone, she punches the button to flip it around. When it brings up her face, it's a little jarring and she frowns, moving it down her body to show Ivy exactly what she’s doing. Clicking the button again, she snaps the photo and then hits send on it.

 _You better delete your_ _messages if_ _you don’t want me tied up with some_ _string_ _and strapped to a frame and mylar,_ _dangling over another_ _pit of acid._

_Oh my god, Harley. Please just shut_ _the fuck up about him right now. Let_ _me enjoy looking at you, enjoy the_ _picture of what you sent without having_ _to think about what a shitty fucking person_ _I am, okay?_

_I will only if I get one back._

She grins manically after she sends it but then loses it when she manages to rake across herself in a particularly nice way. In terms of being warmed up, she’s there. But if she’s ever going to reach the heights tonight, Ivy is going to have to do a bit of work. 

Her phone pings and her mouth goes dry. It’s all green skin and softness, the slope of her stomach and the curl of her hand too. Harley can just make out the scooping curve of her breasts which her white tank is pulled up to rest at their edge. 

She gulps hard. Moves against herself and works to bite down a moan. Glancing at her phone she’s discarded absent-mindedly, she flicks at it again to enlarge the photo Ivy sent. Yeah, this is definitely working. 

Harley decides to effectively short circuit Ivy’s brain and her own, so she pushes up the cups of her own top and bares herself to the room. She grasps a bit of the fabric with her teeth and pulls upward to reveal her chest. Thinking back to her phone again, she quickly slides Ivy’s picture off to start her camera. She angles the lens away from herself and holds it back, snapping another photo and then hitting send. 

Throwing the phone back beside her, she begins to move in earnest. Every memory that floods, every thought that creates a tight coil in her belly, belongs to Ivy. Because she knows all the sensations of the woman, has actually experienced them in real life. It’s these things that ransack her mind and body at the same time. 

A buzzing noise erupts in the room and _fuck_ , this is so not a good time for whatever bullshit is happening. Huffing, she angrily picks the ringing device up to see it isn’t really ringing in the classic type of way, instead signaling a FaceTime video request. 

Oh, _fuck_.

Against her better fucking judgment, (if one could say she ever had any anyway) she presses the green button to accept and after a few stalled seconds, Ivy’s face floods the screen, and Harley loses all ability to breathe.

“Harley, what the fuck. You’re going to kill me,” Ivy practically pants. Her breath is punctuated, ellipses on the air, and her eyes are somehow greener in the dark of wherever the fuck she is. 

“I was only hoping for a small death in the form of an orgasm,” Harley tries for nonchalance but she’s got her hand down her fucking pants and it’s too throaty because of that when it leaves her mouth anyway. 

Ivy lets out a groan and closes her eyes, the flesh of her lip worrying between her teeth. The sight of it, so raw, sets Harley ever more to her purpose. 

“Trust me. I’d like nothing more than that,” Ivy finally says. “I just wish it could be in person again.”

Harley chooses to pointedly ignore the last part of her sentence, otherwise to be left completely worthless and heartbroken again. 

“So tell me how to get you there,” she commands, stopping her own ministrations a bit. She’s going to have to perform for Ivy and she wants to make sure she has enough left in the tank for what she wants. 

“Are you still dressed?”

“Mostly,” Harley admits. 

“Take everything off. Then turn your camera on yourself and let me see you. Please…”

It’s gritty and sounds pained but Harley finds herself doing exactly as she’s asked. It’s hard to go about doing what’s been requested, even harder to figure out exactly how to make what they’re doing less awkward and less like taking a camcorder on a rollercoaster ride. After some trial and error, she manages and flips the camera to aim down her body. 

She feels a little fucking dumb, to be in her 30’s and pulling this juvenile shit. But as she hears Ivy moan loudly on the phone, she gets why it’s a big deal with all the kids these days—because it’s got a weird kink to it that 100% works. 

And really, who does this kind of thing with their best friend? Yes, Harley would take a bullet for Ivy but it’s so much deeper than that too. And Ivy is dense in the social sense (never in the book way) because Harley would absolutely do anything in her power to make sure her heart never had so much as a crack in it because of her. 

If anything, being exceptionally loyal (almost to a fault) is one of Harley’s greatest assets. Ivy means more than anyone, fills Harley’s heart to incredibly full levels. There’s no way she would squander that or anything else if she’d actually admit they’re pure fire together. 

“Let me see you too?” Harley asks, hopeful. A few seconds later, she gets her wish. Her vision swims because it’s all smooth and green everywhere. “Damn, you’re just so beautiful. Absolutely everywhere.”

“You have no idea what you do to me, Harley. What I have to shove down or pretend isn’t there,” Ivy answers back, all touches and scrapes and presses against herself. 

“I told you, you don’t have to pretend with me. I was chicken shit way too long with you. You needed to know what you did to me too,” Harley responds truthfully and it feels so good not to lie or omit. Something bends a little in her chest and she stops what she’s doing. “I wish I could kiss you.” 

It’s barely a whisper when it leaves her mouth. 

“Don’t stop, just...just keep going. I need you,” Ivy groans and when Harley picks back up, she relishes in the sound bouncing back to her ears. “I’d kiss you again. I’d kiss you everywhere, show you exactly how much you mean to me.”

It’s uncharacteristic, how much Ivy is talking, but Harley doesn’t dare try to stop her. It’s like she’s bubbling and boiling over, finally getting to the point of not holding back exactly what she wants to say. Harley has no intention of stopping her either because it’s exactly what she’s wanted to hear, has hoped that Ivy would say all along. Even if the conditions are still less than ideal…

But Harley doesn’t have time to dwell on shit like that. With a few more good shoves, she could give Ivy what she wants.

“Oh, yeah? Tell me every single fucking thing you would do to my body,” Harley’s bold mouth says. Playing coy will do no good. 

“I want all the words attached to location. I want on top, into, above, between. I want near and beside and next. I want all of those things on end.”

It’s pure fucking poetry and Harley is crying while coming, tears streaming down her face and camera on her body as she locks around herself and forgets to even breathe. Somewhere, distantly, she’s hearing words that maybe sound like _honey, please_ or _yes, that’s it_ interspersed with a moan that she’s heard escape Ivy before too, piling over into the now handfuls of times. 

Ivy is right. It’s everything. 

When the shuddering has subsided, Harley is hesitant to recover with Ivy. Knowing her proclivity to run, it’s safer this way. To return to oneself wholly alone. 

“Harls, are you still there?” her voice sounds. 

“I know, we can’t do that again,” Harley picks up the phone and looks at Ivy’s beautiful face. 

She watches her smile sadly, thinking she already knows both how this song goes and the way to dance to it. She watches as Ivy looks off-camera, pursing her lips. At this, Harley sits up a bit and pulls her top back down over her chest. 

“Give me time,” Ivy says quickly, a rushed flurry of words and then the camera jerks a little as she sits up too. 

“What?” Harley’s heart is thumping on overdrive in her chest. 

“Just...give me some fucking time. I don’t know how long, so don’t ask me when. Or how. I don’t know that either. And I have no right to ask any of this from you, but just trust me like I said I couldn’t trust you. Okay?”

And really, Harley can barely process what she’s agreeing to. She feels herself dumbly nodding anyway. It’s beyond herself to feel the curling of hope in her belly when seconds ago, a guilty orgasm was forming there. 

“Okay,” Harley finally replies, a chasm between the time of her head nodding. 

“Merry Christmas, sweetie. I…” Ivy’s voice trails off but she’s looking straight at Harley into her camera, practically willing Harley to understand. She does, so she bypasses the start of her last sentence.

“And Happy New Year?” 

“Yeah. I promise it will be.”

 _I love you_ , Harley thinks but then watches the screen shift to her background again, the apps in a long list and wanting to be touched. She puts the device on her nightstand and rolls back onto her side, curling up to bring her knees into her chest. 

She isn’t sure how long she lays awake before sleep takes her under. Her thoughts are of Ivy as the minutes tick away, only to be pulled into slumber with the beautiful woman coming to meet her in her dreams. A smile creeps onto her lips as she falls. 

***********************

Ivy leaves the bed, hearing the noise of the tv against the wall and the flicker of it underneath the door. She stops a second or two to watch the dancing light of it before she feels the need to tend to her hand. 

She flips on the light and looks at herself hard. There’s nothing different on the surface, yet she knows everything is destroyed down under. 

He comes in not long after, flops into bed and begins snoring almost immediately. Ivy presses the switch and stands in the doorway of the bathroom, watching him sleep against the rumpled covers. His back is strong and his body lithe. Her heart shudders a bit, lurching. She loves him, but she’s not _in_ love with him. 

And she never has been. 

She’d meant what she told Harley. There’s a lot of shit to muck through and she has absolutely no idea how she’s going to go about it. She only knows she has to though. 

Harley is like a drug, one she can’t ever imagine finding a way to become immune too. She’ll never want to stop turning off her toxins, she’ll never be able to just be friends with her ever again. And this is the shit that everyone talks about, that deep soul kind of thing. It’s inescapable once it lands on your doorstep. 

Ivy makes her way past the body she’s said she would lie beside every night and grabs the pillow from her side. Pulling a blanket from a nearby chair, she goes through the door and sits down on the couch. 

For a few quiet moments, she feels the warm aching pull of her body reminding her what she’s given herself. And while she can’t guarantee that when tomorrow comes, she’ll do everything _right_ , she’s at least set on doing it a little _better_. 

While it’s not much, at least this step—right now—is a start. It’s a way to make it back to where she belongs. Hopefully, Harley will still be there waiting when she does. 


End file.
